


The Life and Love of Earl Harlan

by AnotherIcarus



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 13:45:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherIcarus/pseuds/AnotherIcarus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earl knew from a young age how to take pride in his accomplishments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Life and Love of Earl Harlan

Earl had always prided himself on making the best out of a bad situation. Always. When his parents had received the scarlet envelope in the mail, well, of course he had worried. What child would take pleasure in the look of terror on his mother’s face? Would enjoy that long, thin gash of a frown that his father wore like a mask?

Definitely not a child suited to being a cub scout of America. A child so depraved wouldn’t be worthy of wearing the badge laden sash. He was a good boy - and that distinction - that feeling that he was worthy of this honor was enough to soothe him. He would later laud that same distinction, as loud and proud as he could, when he would be made scoutmaster.

He did not yet know that such a  _high_  honor would be afforded to him, though, of course.

His parents sat him down the very next day, fitted uniform folded neatly on Mother’s lap. They both hugged him, mother trembling life a leaf when she did, and they told him they were very proud.

Of course they were.

He pretended to not notice that their smiles seemed forced. His was not, so he hugged them both and snatched the uniform from his mother’s lap. As fast as his childish legs could carry him, he dashed for the bathroom to try it on. The uniform fit perfectly.

(He had heard from an older boy at school that scout masters were let into scouts homes yearly by the secret police so they could take measurements. So it didn’t  _really_  surprise him. After all, Scoutmasters and the Sheriff’s Secret Police had to do their duty to take care of Night Vale’s children.)

Still, the sash empty of badges upset him. He fingered the fabric lightly between his fingers, a thoughtful frown affecting all of his fine features. None of his fellow scouts would be starting with badges, he assumed. Well, that just meant he would need to do his best to earn them first, and with the most aplomb.

-

He prided himself on the fact that not only was he the first scout to be awarded the merit badge for building a homemade bomb - but the first to sabotage an enemy’s. Winning two of the home defense badges in a week was quite the distinction. And oh how they had  _laughed_  at poor Danny’s failed attempt to disarm his bomb in time. They had laughed, and then mourned, and then laughed some more.

Boy Scouts of America was not without its dangers, of course. He managed to sprain his ankle while participating in the annual bear run, when he was 12. It hurt and mad turned his ankle purple for two weeks. He had also come in third to last place. Thankfully, the bears were no longer hungry by the time he crossed into the safety gate. His pride hurt more than the ankle.

-

He was the leading scout as far as badges went - he had run out of room on his sash a while ago. His leading aspiration was to replace Scoutmaster Brooks when he was too old to continue being an Eagle Scout. Of course, a little bit of that was simple expectation. The leading Eagle scout of a decade  _always_ became a Scout master. It was just the way things were done.

Scoutmaster Brooks had wronged him when he had awarded the Viking funeral badge to Donny and not to Earl. He had built the best looking boat out of reeds -  _real reeds!_ The doll he had sent afloat had contained  _real_  human touches, and he had sacrificed some of his own earthly belongings.

Donny had used his sister’s Barbie, and the boat had been made out of plywood and stained with cherry coloured oil. It had been cheap and tacky and Earl planned to see they both pay for such hubris.

Shame. On. Them.

-

In other parts of his life, though, when he wasn’t busy with scouting, Earl had become quite the charmer in school. He was head of the class of 19██, and was voted most likely to live a fulfilling (but short) life. Still, those things didn’t matter so much to him.

He had developed a crush - a full-blown, sweaty palms crush - on Cecil ████, the voice of Night Vale Highscool’s morning announcements. And sports casting.

Oh, to listen to that man announce the football players jog out onto the field.

Cecil, however, was dating Steve Carlsberg. That upset Earl. Steve was unworthy of Cecil’s time, and Earl couldn’t exactly step in to rectify the situation. Eagle scouts were forbidden to pursue relationships with other boys, on the grounds that it would distract them from The Ultimate Goal. Everyone knew that, and knew that what would happen to potential romantic entanglements was… well, unpleasant. He couldn’t bring that on Cecil, and so he pined from a distance.

Waiting.

-

He was declared a finished Eagle Scout when he turned 18, three months before the class of 19██ graduated. He was  _very_  proud - his parents were proud, and grateful, and crying at the ceremony. He had continued his climb through the ranks, impressed everyone, and it was only a matter of time before he awoke to a light blue flower on his chest, declaring him a Scoutmaster.

Until that time, he was free of all earthly obligations to organization.

He wasted no time in asking Cecil out. Cecil, who had broken up with Steve Carlsberg over the morning announcements. Cecil, who was a shining example of what everyone in the community should strive to be. Steve Carlsberg hadn’t deserved such a treasure. Earl was  _sure_  that he was though.

Cecil agreed, clearly. “Well, how about, you pick me up at seven. Tonight? We can go see a movie. I hear that  _A Series of Images Overlapped with Municipal Approved Music and Sounds_  is a real treat this year!" He smiled. He smiled, and for a big, long moment, everything Earl had accomplished in his life leading up to this point meant nothing. Because he made Cecil smile. And that, he decided, was his proudest moment so far.

ASoIOwMAM ended up being a total bomb, but they were municipally required to sit through until the theatre lights came up. Earl and Cecil first started whispering to each other in the back, lips brushing ears in an intimate display Earl hadn’t even dreamed could happen on a first date.

"They really should have made the plot center more around the helicopter pilot from the vague yet menacing government agency," Cecil whispered to him and Earl had nodded.

"I’m more interested if they really meant to go anywhere with the tall man in the suit." He added. Cecil had pulled back, watching him in the unsteady light of the projector, and then glanced at the screen. “I mean, he just shows up in the background, before that clip tears and they replace it. -That- is a display of a screenwriter that wouldn’t recognize potential if it danced naked in front of him."

He knew these things. He had earned his merit badge in screenwriting at the tender age of 13. He could have pursued a career in it, if his sights hadn’t been so set ( and slightly-controlled) on being a scoutmaster.

Cecil looked back at him with admiration in his eyes."Wow. I would  _never_  have noticed that, Earl Harlan."

Something about how Cecil said his name - his  _full_  name and no trace of ‘Eagle Scout Earl’ on his lips - made a shiver run down his spine. The next thing he knew, he had a lap full of Cecil, and zero view (or care) of the screen.

He never did find out if the screenwriter had wizened up to the acting gold of the tall faceless man in the background.

-

They went on quite a few more dates, and several trips out to the Sandbluffs in Earl’s truck. They stacked a tall pile of blankets in the back, and built a nest out of them (properly, as depicted in the Scout Handbook, and Cecil had marveled and laughed in wonderment at the intricacies) in the bed of the truck. They stayed out there all night, sometimes, going between necking and watching the mysterious lights hover lovingly over head.

Earl felt like those lights were just for the two of them. It was ridiculous after all. Everyone could see them - he had heard Schoolteacher Josie talk about them to Pamela Winchell’s father at the Ralph’s. Still, it was a nice thought - that the lights were there for Cecil and he - and he refused to stop thinking about it like that.

-

Graduation was there before he knew it. He delivered his speech around the bloodstone circle - a traditional one that he had found in tomes long forgotten. As if everyone had found the same old dusty tome, they had recited the speech in perfect unison after him, and the bloodstones glowed their approval.

Cecil spoke next, and while his was not a traditional speech - there was no bloodstone sacrifice, nor monotone chanting - it was perfect nonetheless. Everything about Cecil was perfect, Earl had decided, and had even made plans to ask him for a traditional binding ceremony.

It would, of course, mean giving up hope of becoming a Scoutmaster. But Earl Harlan had decided it was worth it, to wake up every morning to that voice, and see just where life with Cecil ████ would take him. Maybe he could become the next NAME REDACTED, the famous screenwriter from Night Vale.

He sighed, happily, in the middle of Cecil’s speech, and then heard the next words out of Cecil’s mouth. “And that’s why I’ve decided to take a nice long post-graduation trip around Europe! After all, fellow graduates, we’re only young once - sometimes twice if you’re unlucky - and we need to embrace adventure!"

What? A trip out of Night Vale? Cecil hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort to him! He would have to pack. And hurry up on his binding proposal. Ooh, this had thrown everything off!

"Well, I figured you wanted to stay in Night Vale," Cecil had muttered sheepishly. He  _never_  sounded sheepish. He wouldn’t meet Earl’s eyes, either, and understanding twisted in his gut.

"You don’t  _want_  me to go with you," he said and Cecil didn’t exactly try to deny it. Lying was pretty offensive in Night Vale. Life was too short - between street cleaners and Valentine’s Day and day to day risks, it just wasn’t worth risking that the last thing a loved one told you was untrue.

"Just a break. You know, while we stop and take stock," Cecil reasoned, and Earl found himself nodding. Cecil always managed to sound so agreeable, so reasonable. No wonder the headmaster had chosen him to do the morning announcements. “I’ll call you when I get back from my trip."

"Okay. Alright, have- have a good trip, then, Cecil." Earl smiled, and felt his heart break a little.

-

Cecil never called. Earl only found out he was back when he saw the flyers around town about the latest radio show.

-

Years later - time flies when you become a scoutmaster, he learns, and isn’t sure how much of it is orchestrated - and Earl still hadn’t really talked to Cecil. They’ve  _talked_ , sure, and had coffee a few times. But he kept waiting for a sign, and there wasn’t any forthcoming.

And then Carlos the Scientist came to town.

Carlos, the beautiful. Carlos, with the perfect teeth and hair and lab coat. Earl liked him well enough, sure - the guy was a bit awkward, wasn’t really charismatic, but he seemed earnest and eager and well, if that didn’t remind him of his own scouting days?

And then Earl made the mistake of turning on Cecil’s show, like he did every night.

"-and I fell in love  _instantly_ ," Cecil sighed out into Earl’s living room.

Maybe he didn’t like Carlos at all. Maybe he was suspicious of the new stranger come to uproot everything about Night Vale, and turn it into a giant rat maze.

-

Two weeks later, he decided to, once and for all, talk to Cecil. He asked him out to coffee mid-day - he knew that the radio personality would be up most of the night manning the station.They sat down at a window booth, and the waitress brought over two unreasonably small coffee mugs, a thermos of more coffee, and a bowl of ice.

It  _was_  unreasonably hot out.

"You look like you’re doing well," Cecil smiled, dunking three ice cubes into his coffee, followed by cream and sugar. Earl sipped at his coffee, hot and black and bitter.

"I could be worse, I guess." He said. “Look, Cecil-"

"Oh! I heard the news!" Earl stared at him blankly. “About the new ranks? Is that what this is about?" Ever the reporter, Cecil’s eyes had lit up, and Earl faltered.

"Oh, yeah. About those…" He didn’t know much more than the general public. He knew the designated badges for promotion, and yet - aside from the cryptic names (which seemed familiar in the back of his head, like he had grown up hearing them  _somewhere_ ) he didn’t exactly know much else.

He scratched the back of his head.

There was a mysterious glowing cloud dropping dead animals all over town. Brevity was probably for the best. The fact that Cecil thought he was only there for the news story, well. Maybe that was answer in itself. “Yeah. I wanted to let you know before the news broke, but well, it’s so hard to beat your informants to the punch," he shrugged, and smiled.

-

He was going to die. Or have his corporeal soul absorbed into a hive mind sort of networking. It was a given. A horrible, rather terrifying given.

Make no mistake. He was proud.  _So_  proud to have his troop be the first to be honored with such a distinction. Proud of his boys for making it possible.

But the two emotions were mixing inside of him and it was confusing. More so was standing in Cecil’s radio studio, being interviewed by that charming, warm smile and that face that he had once liked so well.

Maybe he still did. It was hard to tell anymore. The interview concluded, and he stood, as Cecil did. “Good luck," Cecil said, holding out his hand. Earl visibly shuddered, a cold spell covering his body. It was time. He could feel it.

"Cecil."

"Yes, Earl?"

"We could have had something, Cecil. Always remember that," he took Cecil’s arm, squeezed it in support. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, contemplating. And then withdrew his hand like Cecil had burned him. He wasn’t sure if he meant that soothingly - or to guilt Cecil.

The radio host looked lost for a second, like he wasn’t sure how to react. His mouth stretched to a small frown, and then opened to say something.

"It’s time," Earl said, and ducked his head, hurrying out of the station. Destiny waited, and it was in the form of a burlap tent out back of the Ralph’s.


End file.
